


Of Course

by BryroseA



Category: Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1653086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BryroseA/pseuds/BryroseA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan doesn’t call, but (spoiler alert) Veronica still comes. An AU of the beginning of the Veronica Mars movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Noun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Course:**  
>  1\. (n) the route or direction followed by a road, river, or vessel  
> 2\. (n) the way in which something progresses or develops  
> 3\. (n) a procedure adopted to deal with a situation

“Bonnie DeVille was found dead in her bathtub.”

The room fades away behind Veronica as she stares at the scrolling text on the screen of the mounted television. Her interview, Piz, the sex tape questions, even the wonder that is Ira Glass all retreat to the back of her consciousness.

“Oh, that’s awful. Were you a fan?”

Veronica is in a daze. “I went to high school with her. She was Carrie Bishop then.” Behind her, she can feel Piz deflate. He knows who Carrie Bishop is—knows what Carrie Bishop means. _Logan_ _._

Piz collects himself and continues his banter with his boss. No, he can’t shorten the Zhi Howes story—that two minute clip of her best friend reminiscing about their elementary school days is, like, so central to the heart of the piece, doesn't Ira agree? Veronica nods along, doing her best to stay engaged with the conversation. All the while, her ears are tuned to the soft sounds of CNN issuing from the television speakers. In between back-and-forths about the transition into the second bumper—whatever the hell that means—Veronica catches the following facts. 1) Carrie was seeing someone new. 2) There was video of Logan threatening Carrie and her new Romeo. ( _Threatening? Really, Logan?_ ) And 3) Carrie was a known drug addict.

On the cab ride home, Veronica stares intently out the window, avoiding the conversation she can tell Piz wants to have. The cabbie switches to a news station that is doing a report on the story. The radio buzzes, “…DeVille was found electrocuted in her bathtub. Local authorities have ruled the death a homicide and are focusing their investigation around ex-boyfriend Logan Echolls.”

Logan’s name instantly increases the weight of the silence in the cab a hundredfold. She deliberately ignores the tension in favor of evaluating her mood.

The urge to investigate, Veronica can feel it itching and digging at her. Most of the time she doesn't miss the PI business; the thrill of the chase; the rush of being clever—of stretching her brain in ways law school never can; the feeling of being an agent for justice; helping those with nowhere else to turn. Of course she doesn't miss it. The personal danger and the lives she ruined had more than outweighed any benefits that career brought her. She’s sure they did. All she has to do is picture her father’s face when Vinnie Van Lowe became Sheriff to know that that is the truth. It’s just that this case involves Logan and it’s practically a pavlovian response for her to want to investigate his murder charges. _That’s it, of course._

She can’t help…playing a little with the possibilities in her mind, though. Just as an intellectual exercise. _Who killed Carrie Bishop? Or were they killing Bonnie DeVille? That question adds a whole extra layer to the case. If I were investigating—just say if—where would I start? Interview Logan, for one, see what he knew about her circle, anyone who might be holding grudges. I wonder if Carrie ever got any death threats. _Veronica can feel Piz looking over at her silently from the far side of the cab; she bites her lip. _Who was Carrie’s friend from high school who had the baby? Susan Knight. Interview her too. Sean Freidrich is the new love interest. He’s totally capable of nefarious doings. Definitely stake him out…maybe bug his phone…_

Veronica shakes her head slightly. _You don’t even know anything yet Veronica. (Yet?)_ _Snap out of it. Worry about the bar exam. Worry about your interview tomorrow._ They arrive at their apartment building and exit the cab. Veronica leans forward and pays the cabbie while Piz stands, silent, at her back. _Besides, you’re getting ahead of yourself. Your skills are rusty._ They climb the stairs, unease still hovering in the air. _The first step—if you were working the case—would be research. Go online and find out everything there is to know about the case. Yeah, that’s what you would do. If._

Veronica and Piz have been living together just long enough to have formed an evening routine. They enter the apartment and kick their shoes off silently in the designated place. Veronica heads back to the bathroom to take a shower, while Piz preps for dinner.

Veronica feels vaguely uncomfortable in the apartment, in her skin. It is not a new feeling. She and Piz had moved in together two months ago. Veronica had been excited about the rent, the location, and about not having to live in a two bedroom apartment with three other law students. Piz, she knows although she ignores the knowledge, had been excited about much more. Sometimes she worries it will become a mistake she won’t be able to back out of.

She lingers in the shower, emerging forty-five minutes later, pink-faced and dressed in yoga pants and a loose t-shirt. Piz is just portioning out the ziti onto plates.

Veronica smiles at him, grabs her plate and carries it into the living room to sit on the couch. He follows. _Here we go._

 “Veronica…” Piz begins portentously.

“I can’t believe I met Ira Glass today,” she inserts in a bright tone, “and you didn’t let me do my impression!” She channels her best Groucho Marx voice. “I’da blown his socks off!”

“Veronica, I think we should talk about—”

She cuts in, tightly. “Let’s not. It’s old news Piz. You know how I feel about rehashing the past.” Her voice softens a little as she looks at her boyfriend, sitting there with a stricken expression on his face. _He’s a good guy._ “I’m sorry if I’ve been…weird this evening. It was just a bit of a surprise, that’s all.”

“If you ever wanted to talk about it, you know I—“

“I know. But I don’t want to. Old news.” She musters up a smile. “Fire up the Netflix! I think we can get through those last two episodes tonight. I swear, if there’s another cliffhanger like last season…”

Piz hesitates for a second, clearly wondering whether or not to push, before he joins in, grumbling gamely. “I don’t know why we still watch this stupid show. You hate it, I hate it.”

Veronica summons a teasing grin. “We’ve watched three seasons, we’re committed now. Plus, you don’t hate it, you love it. You know you do.”

He smiles back a little tensely, gazing at her, before saying softly and oh-so-meaningfully, “yeah, I do love it.”

_I really wish my automatic instinct here wasn’t to roll my eyes._

Halfway through the first episode, Veronica realizes that she is curled up against the far arm of the couch instead of in her usual place against Piz’s side. She scoots over and nudges him with her shoulder. They both smile forced smiles at each other as he drapes his arm across her back. They settle in to the mind numbing routine of TV watching, not exchanging any words. The evening ends, an hour later, with Piz hurling a throw pillow at the television, dramatically declaring, “Never again!” and Veronica mock spiking the remote. _There. Normal._

Half an hour after Piz falls asleep, Veronica is still lying awake, contemplating the laptop she can see sitting on the desk. _Don’t do it. Go to sleep. You have a big interview tomorrow. Go to sleep._ She flips over angrily, burying her head under the pillow. _Of course, maybe you just need to get it out of your system._ _You don’t even know any of the details; that would drive anyone crazy._ Veronica sets the pillow aside and carefully crawls out of bed and boots up the laptop.

Her hands hover over the keys; “Lo—“ she types, before backspacing and typing “Bonnie DeVille.” News stories fill her screen. There’s not a lot of new information in most of them; Carrie electrocuted, Logan interrogated; speculation _ad nauseam_. She finds a link on TMZ to a video of the “threatening” incident she’d heard referenced earlier. The first time she plays the video through it is so dizzyingly surreal to actually hear Logan’s voice and to see him move that she doesn’t really catch any of the content. He is still all long and graceful lines, his voice lower and tight with rage in a way that makes her chest ache. She drags the tracking bar back to the beginning and plays the video through twice more.

There are other videos. The worst is of Logan being escorted away from Carrie’s mansion and into a police cruiser. His face is so blank and dead looking in that one that she only makes it halfway through before clicking over to something else, her heart in her throat.

As she reads and watches, her brain automatically categorizes information— _clues_. Carrie still seems to hang out with a lot of people from high school; her new love interest is former 09er poser Sean Freidrich and Gia Goodman is quoted in one article as a “close friend.” Logan was found unconscious next to Carrie’s body and no one seems to find it unusual that he would first murder Carrie and then pass out next to her to be conveniently found by the police. She can’t get a sense of the timeline from any of the articles. _What was Carrie’s TOD? When did Logan get there? Who called the police?_

It is weird, she realizes, to see Logan referred to over and over as Bonnie DeVille’s ex-boyfriend. In a bar once, during her first year of law school, Veronica had a friend try to drunkenly walk her through a theory about how most past relationships were “an ex-“ as in, “Oh, he’s an ex-boyfriend. She’s an ex-girlfriend.” Everyone who’d really been out there though, according to Brianna, had someone in their past who wasn’t just “an ex-“ but was instead “The Ex.” Capital letters. Veronica, rather buzzed herself, had found herself nodding vigorously along with the theory and then smacking her wine glass down on the bar and decisively uttering, “Logan,” as her contribution to the conversation. It was the first time she’d said his name out loud in what felt like forever. Luckily, by that point, Brianna was too many vodka tonics in to her evening to either question Veronica or to remember their talk the next day. The conversation stayed with Veronica, though. No matter how many men she has dated (or re-dated), Logan is and always has been The Ex. It hits her kind of funny to recognize that in the eyes of the world, Logan isn’t her ex— _The Ex_ —but Carrie’s. 

One of the articles she peruses has a picture of Logan in his olive green flight suit, wearing aviator sunglasses and posing in front of what is presumably his plane. A familiar happy smirk lights his face. _Damn_ , is her first thought, followed closely by, _yum_. In the bed behind her, Piz flops over restlessly onto his side, his breath wheezing slightly. Guilt floods Veronica as she quietly powers down the computer and slides back into bed. _It doesn't mean anything. I'm allowed to find him attractive. I find Piz attractive too. Of course it doesn't mean anything._  

She conjures up images. Piz, grinning as he kissed her in the sudden rainstorm that caught them as they were walking up 81st Street; Piz bringing her flowers ( _daffodils, you hate daffodils_ ) for her birthday; Piz smiling gently at her as she apologized for missing, yet again, the planned meet up with his work friends for drinks.

Logan’s face as he’s led to the police cruiser.

Veronica stares at the ceiling, brain buzzing, for hours before finally slipping into sleep. 

_____________

 

The next day passes slowly. Piz leaves at his usual time, quiet in a way that would have troubled Veronica had she been paying attention instead of darting glances at her phone. She’s pretty much cleared her calendar for this week. She’s purged all non-essential academic meetings; called off from the waitressing job where she works odd hours when her schedule allows; and told all of her New York acquaintances that she is on lockdown and not to call. This week is supposed to be about nothing but studying and interviewing. Unfortunately, that leaves her alone in her apartment today with no real accountability for her time until her follow up interview with Truman Mann at four o’clock.

The video of Logan being led to the squad car, his face white and his expression dead, keeps playing through her mind. She can’t seem to shake it off. _Eleven o’clock here, eight o’clock in California. What is he doing right now? Did they arrest him? Do they have any other leads? Will he call?_

This is the kind of mood that used to send her running headlong into a case to distract herself. Boyfriend flees the country to protect the love child he had with his dead ex-girlfriend? Clear your best friend of hit and run charges. Tortured by images of your boyfriend and your worst enemy sexing it up? Stake out a women’s clinic. Obsessing over your nine-years-ex-boyfriend's third murder accusation? ...Study for the bar exam? 

Veronica sighs. It doesn't have quite the same panache, but it will have to do.  

She gathers her materials and pops in some earbuds, managing to get in a good hour of studying before she caves and glances at her phone again. Nothing. Checks her email. Nothing.

She can’t concentrate any longer on the bar study books and flash cards spread around her. She needs to clear her head, get this off her mind. It’s the best way to ensure that does she well on the bar exam. _I need to go to Neptune_ , she intones faux-solemnly to herself. _It’s for my future._ She snorts. _Come off it, Veronica._

Veronica has been back to Neptune a few times since she moved away, of course, to visit her dad. Time, distance, and expense don’t allow it very often, though. She’s never once seen Logan while in town; for the first few trips that fact had relieved her, but the last time she was there—almost two years ago now—she found herself oddly hopeful about the idea of a random run in. It wasn’t until after she got back to New York that she saw on a tabloid cover that she and Logan hadn’t even been on the same continent, let alone in the same town. The front page had screamed: “Lt. Echolls Returned From Duty!” and featured a picture of him kissing rising pop star Bonnie DeVille. That wasn’t a weird way at all to find out that her ex-boyfriend had been deployed. With the Navy. Because he was a goddamn fighter pilot. Nope.

In the middle of the afternoon, Veronica is furiously scrubbing the baseboards, when she gets a series of texts from Wallace.

_**Had lunch w/ Mac today.**_

_**We’re plotting ways to get you to the reunion.**_

_**When large scary men show up with a big black bag, don’t struggle too much.**_

Veronica snorts a little and smiles to herself before texting back.

_** Struggle is my middle name. **_

Then, after a pause.

_** Lunch where? **_

_** Mama Leoni’s. You know you want some. **_

_** No fair! Bringing out the big guns. **_

_**No gun too big. It’s been too long since we’ve seen you, BFF.**_

Veronica thinks for a bit, but can’t come up with a reply. _Tell me everything you know about what’s going on with Logan_ doesn’t really seem like an appropriate response. Nor does, _I’m actually considering using the reunion as an excuse to come out there and satisfy my curiosity about this case_. She’s not. She’s really not. So she settles for texting back a smiley face, effectively ending the conversation.

__________

 

The second Truman Mann interview goes well, she thinks. The sex tape doesn’t come up again, but they do ask about her PI past. She sticks to the party line. “That’s not me anymore.” “I’ve grown away from that.” It’s the truth, of course. She doesn’t mention the three hours she spent last night spelunking the internet for videos and case information. She doesn’t mention the Google Alert she set for “Logan Echolls.”

He still hasn’t called. _Five o’clock here, two o’clock there. What’s going on?_

Veronica calls her Dad. After hashing through the interview, she asks him about his current cases, something she hasn’t done in a long time. She can tell he is surprised. She hints around for a bit, but he never mentions the DeVille case. _He sounds a bit run down. I bet the office mess is overwhelming him again. It would be such a great surprise for me to fly out there and organize it all for him._

Six o’clock and the apartment is spotless. _Three o’clock there._

She spends the rest of that evening—all through dinner and another Netflix binge with Piz—glancing at her phone every fifteen minutes, somehow expecting it to ring. Expecting Logan to call and say, “I need your help Veronica.” She can practically hear it echoing in her mind. Veronica shakes her head. _It has been a damn long time since you’ve been his ‘one phone call’ person._ She calculates quickly. _Nine years. How is that possible?_ She never intended for it to happen that way—she doesn’t think—to stretch out this long. She was always going to call him to reconnect, some time; once she’d reached a safe distance. She’s sure she that was her intention. One day she’d just call him up out of the blue and he’d say, “hey there, stranger,” because in her mind they can do casual banter again. But somehow the years had accumulated; college, law school, time and distance pressing down between them and she’d never called.  _Nine years. It doesn’t seem that long._ She’s twenty-eight; transitioned from being young to being “still young” and she’s still never called. _How did this happen?_ Somehow, even after all this time, she still thinks of him as her oldest friend. Like he could still just pick up the phone and call her at any time. She’s spent years half expecting that he would. But he didn’t.

Isn’t.

Veronica checks her phone again.

___________

 

The next day is more of the same. Piz is still slightly pissy, but somehow Veronica cares less. Another obsessive late night search had revealed very little new information, except that Logan is definitely the prime and only suspect. The news sites and blogs that she spends the morning checking—giving up on even the pretense of studying—are full of people avidly speculating not _if_ he did it, but _why_ he did it. Veronica can feel her anger burning hotly every time she thinks about it.

_Why can’t anyone see that he isn’t guilty? The evidence is so shoddy. And Logan would never._

She searches around for something to clean; seizes on the spice cabinet. She begins unpacking all of the little bottles and jars, some unopened and most hardly used. _Why the heck did we buy sage?_ As she scrubs the dark corners of the little cabinet, her mind drifts.

It is strange, she knows; her absolute certainty that Logan is innocent. No one else seems to think so and it’s not like she has any knowledge about the person he is these days. Somehow though… her brain rejects even the possibility. Time and distance from Logan’s high school torturing days have softened what used to be an automatic reflex for her to believe the worst of him. In the many, many times she’s gone over the ways their relationship failed all those years ago, she’s realized that he never really was guilty of the things she accused him of. Guilty of other things, sometimes. Guilty of evasions and of not offering up information—a habit that her undergrad class on the effects of abuse on children had shed some light on—yes. But never guilty of the big things; the real things. She’s gained a lot of empathy for that long ago Logan and Veronica— _we were such babies; so young—_ and a strange, completely unwarranted, sense of pride in Logan for straightening out to the point that he is a goddamn naval fighter pilot. Such a sad little irony; when they were together she couldn’t stop doubting him but now, nine years and three thousand miles away, she hasn’t had even a moment of doubt since the news broke.

 _He has to have other people who think he is innocent. Surely some of the other pilots—Logan has to have made friends in the navy, right? I bet he’s still friends with Dick. Maybe…_ she tries but can’t come up with anyone else who would stand behind Logan one hundred percent. _Trina? Now that’s scraping the bottom of the barrel._

She sighs and pulls her head out of the cupboard, her face slightly sweaty and flushed from the exertion and the odd position she’s been crouched in. She wipes everything down and loads the bottles and jars back into the racks. _Time to clear your head._ She heads back to the shower; defiantly tossing the jar of sage leaves in the trash can as she goes.

When Veronica exits the shower, she finds two text messages waiting—she taps the message icon eagerly—from Mac. She slumps a bit. They are both picture messages. The first is a picture of Neptune High, with the accompanying text “Go Pirates?” The next, a picture of Johnny Depp in full Captain Jack Sparrow regalia captioned, “Go Pirates!”

Veronica chuckles to herself and makes a mental note to look up other hot pirate pictures to spam Mac with after lunch. _Twelve-thirty here; nine-thirty there._

After contemplating the contents of the fridge for a minute, she makes herself a chicken salad sandwich on wheat toast. She's also got lascivious plans for a dill pickle if she can ever get the damn jar open. Veronica grabs for a kitchen towel to help her get a better grip on the pickle jar lid. Her thoughts return to their newly worn tracks.  _Logan_ _is in real trouble. Anyone should be able to see that the evidence doesn't fit, but no one seems to._ She grimaces as she strains to move the lid. _It's not like he can trust in the crack investigative skills of the Balboa County Sheriff's Department. That place has basically been a clown car since Dad left office. Logan didn’t murder Carrie. Who did? Sean?_ _I wouldn't put it past the sleazeball._ With a grunt of disgust, she puts the jar down and grabs a butter knife out of the silverware drawer.  _It seems unlikely, though, that the murder is yet another person from our graduating class_. She smiles to herself, _Go Pirates, class of 2006!_ Veronica starts to rhythmically whack the handle of the butter knife around the pickle jar lid, trying to loosen it.  _With Carrie's lifestyle and her circle there are so many tantalizing possibilities, but I can't_ (bang) _figure out_ (bang)  _who they are_ (bang) _from New York_ (bang) _._ She gives the lid a viscious twist and, with a wet sucking sound, it finally gives. _Yes! Dill pickle deliciousness._  

Logan’s face flashes through her mind again. _California_ _has the death penalty._

Veronica gazes at the yellow-green liquid sloshing in the jar. She feels slightly nauseated. Her lips tighten as, sans pickle, she carefully rethreads the lid and places the jar back in the refrigerator. 

She can’t handle this any longer. It’s driving her nuts—the curiosity, of course. It’s her damn curiosity.

_I’m going back to Neptune._

Decision made, she hurries to her laptop, leaving her sandwich behind on the counter.  


	2. Noun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Course**  
>  1\. (v) to pursue game by sight rather than scent  
> 2\. (v) to move without obstruction; to flow.

Piz takes the news as expected; positive and supportive on the surface, even getting in a few quips, but with an undercurrent of hurt that Veronica can’t summon the motivation to assuage. _I’ll make it up to him when I get back._  

There is a moment when she says goodbye to Piz, cupping his face in her hands and giving him a smacking kiss on the lips, where she thinks, _I am a crappy girlfriend_. She pushes those feelings away, subsuming them in her excitement and nerves.  

She _is_ excited and nervous, she acknowledges to herself.

To see her dad, of course.

Yes, nervous about seeing her dad.

It has been too long since she’s seen him. The last time Keith was able to expense a bail jumper trip out to the East Coast was eight months ago. He’d been in Philadelphia and she’d taken the train down to have dinner and visit for the evening. This trip will be good for her and her dad; he was so excited on the phone when she said she was coming in. Veronica _may_ have left him under the impression that the high school reunion was the primary motivator for her trip. _I just don’t feel like explaining everything over the phone; it will be easier face to face._

In the airport, she crammed herself into a corner near a pillar that had an outlet in it. Laptop plugged in to preserve the battery, she sought out and downloaded copies of enough new articles and videos about Carrie and Logan to occupy her time for at least part of the flight.

Now—settled in to a window seat while the plane sits on the tarmac and forbidden from accessing her electronic devices for the next fifteen or so minutes—Veronica fidgets. _Wasted time. I hate wasted time on a case._ Tapping her fingers on the metal seatbelt buckle, she leans her forehead against the window. Outside the plane, Veronica sees a man in ill-fitting maintenance coveralls glance over his shoulder before ducking under the wing of the plane parked at the next gate. Her attention is caught. _He looks shifty. Furtive. And that uniform looks like it might not be his. I wonder…I need a closer look._ Unconsciously,her right hand reaches down to her hip, grabbing for the zoom lens fitted DSLR camera that no longer rests there. Hasn’t rested there for nine years. She freezes, breath catching in her chest. _Oh crap. What the…what the fuck are you doing, Veronica? Oh shit. _She is slightly hyperventilating now. Her seatmate turns his attention from the flight attendant who is explaining the location of the over-wing exits to glance at her for a moment, before clearly dismissing her as a nervous flier.

 _What are you doing? You’re working a case. A case and you didn’t even… You just slid into it without even…What are you doing? _Her hands tighten on the armrests as the plane begins to taxi down the runway. _You’re going to Neptune to work a case and you didn’t even notice_. _What the hell is wrong with you, Veronica? It has been nine years. Nine years. You’re like…like…some sort of addict. You thought you were clean. You were so proud of your control. All this time, has this just been lurking in the back of your head? Waiting to take you over? Ruin everyone’s lives again?_

She is pressed back into her seat as the plane leaps into the air, the roar of the engines fills her ears like cotton batting, muting all other sounds. _I didn’t even call Logan. I’m flying across the country and I didn’t even call Logan._ Her heart sinks. _He doesn’t want me; doesn’t need me. I’m just some…creepy stalker ex._

She takes a deep breath, willing herself to relax. _Calm down, Veronica. Back away from the edge. Investigating is the absolute wrong thing for your life, right? You decided a long time ago that it cost too much, consumed you too much. You’ve been happier since you stopped, haven’t you?_

This situation is different, though. This is a special, once in a lifetime situation. ( _This is Logan._ ) It will be like…a farewell tour. _This will be…okay. You just need to draw lines._ Veronica nods to herself, deciding. _You’re going to Neptune to see your Dad. When you gets there, you will look Logan up like an adult—like you should have done years ago—and call him to see if he wants to get together. You will…you will see if Logan needs anything. If he does, you’ll convince Dad to take the case._ Her heart rate is slowing down; disappointment and a sort of self righteous pride in her decision are warring within her. _This is the right thing to do._

There is a ding and a stewardess’ voice crackles over the PA system, informing the passengers that they can now use their approved electronic devices.

Veronica glances down at the laptop bag at her feet. Resolutely, she turns her head away and presses herself back into her seat, determined to try to get some sleep.

Twenty minutes later, having contorted her body into every position possible in the thirty inches allotted to her by the airline, she is still wide awake. She blows back a strand of hair that is falling over her face and eyes the laptop bag again. _All of the reading I have saved on there, that’s not really investigating, it’s just research. Lawyers research. I’ll turn over all of my findings to Dad, of course, if Logan wants him to take the case._ She reaches down and pulls the laptop out, booting it up and placing it on the seat-back tray table. A happy hum of adrenaline and anticipation thrums through her as she opens the first article. _I’m so glad I realized I was backsliding before it went too far. Good job Veronica._ She ignores any remaining threads of doubt.

__________

Her Dad meets her at baggage claim wearing his old sheriff’s hat and holding a ragged  handwritten cardboard sign that says, “Counselor Mars, Esq.” Veronica cringes a little as rushes forward to hug him. _This is so not going to go well._

When they pull back, Keith grins broadly and waves the sign a bit, “I figured you’d better start getting accustomed to the perks of the good life. One chauffer,” he points at himself and gives her an exaggerated bow, “at your service, Counselor.”

“You do know that your sign is completely wrong, right?” He grins unrepentantly, “and that I haven’t even passed the bar yet?”

Keith pulls her against her side with a one armed hug as they walk, “Father’s privilege.” He presses a kiss to her brow, “and, despite your little side trip here, there is no way that you are not going to ace that exam.”

Veronica’s lips twist wryly, “such confidence in your only daughter.”

He retorts back, jabbing his pointer finger in the air triumphantly, “such confidence in my genetic material.”

Keith wins their brief tussle for control of her roller suitcase and they both grin at each other as they walk toward the exit. “Hey, Veronica?”

“Yeah, Dad?”

He pauses a beat, comedic timing being all important to the Mars family. “Who’s your daddy?”

Veronica groans, bumping him with her elbow. “It’s good to be home, Dad.”

On the car ride to Neptune, they quickly run through the usual topics; Piz, Mars Investigations, Piz, her Dad’s search for a new dog, her interviews, Piz, (“Alright, Dad, I get it. You like Piz.”), a funny story about Mrs. Quan, her Dad’s biggest fan. They talk on the phone several times a week, so it is not as long as Veronica might have hoped before the conversation turns to the reasons for her visit to California.

“So, have you heard from Mac and Wallace? Are you guys going to meet up before the reunion?”

 _Riiight, the reunion. I guess this is that face to face scenario you were waiting for._ “Um, actually…”

“Veronica?” _Crap, he’s suspicious already. Damage control time, Veronica._

“No! It’s…it’s a surprise. For them. A surprise for Mac and Wallace.” She ignores the little voice in her head that asks why she doesn’t just mention Logan’s case. _After all, you are going to ask him to take it over, right?_

 “A surprise.” Keith’s radar is definitely activated, his voice wary. “When you show up at the reunion?”

“Something like that.” Veronica gives a false hearty laugh. “How’s the PI business these days? Put any evil-doers behind bars recently?”

Her father shoots her a look out of the corner of his eye. “Sweetie, I know it’s been a while, but you know it’s not like that. I spent this morning, like most of my mornings, helping a guy avoid having to pay out on his pre-nup.”

“You do good, Dad. You’re a do-gooder.”

“Don’t romanticize this life, Veronica. I’m not some crusader for justice.”

“To me you are.” _Why can’t you see yourself the way I do?_

He gives her a weak smile, but it is troubled, assessing. “So, is Stosh flying out for the reunion?”

“Dad!”

__________

 

Veronica wakes up the next morning in the guest bedroom of the small Arts and Craft bungalow her dad had moved in to three years ago. She shakes off the feeling of dislocation that comes with waking up in a strange room and glances at her old panda alarm clock, resting on the dresser. _Only seven o’clock. The time change strikes again._

She lingers over her morning routine, eschewing her straightening iron for a loosely wavey hairstyle that seems to fit her mood better.  

Veronica checks her phone. Still no calls from Logan; _guess you’re going to have to suck it up and call first, Mars._ She frowns a little. _Later._ There are, however, three new text messages from Wallace waiting for her. She feels a stab of guilt as she opens them. _He doesn’t even know I’m in Neptune._

_** Hey V, re-thought the reunion at all? **_

_** Mac got vouchers for some dirt ass cheap tkts from NY to SD, hmu if you’re interested. **_

_** All part of my evil plan. **_

Veronica bites her lip, fighting the urge to simply put away the phone and ignore Wallace’s messages. Instead, she sighs and taps out,

_** Ha ha… I’ve got a funny surprise for you, actually, you’re going to love it **_

She glances at the clock, Wallace is probably at school already.

_** Text me back on your lunch break. **_

_How the hell am I going to get out of this reunion now? Better wrap this case up quickly, Veronica._ She shakes her head a little. _Better pass it off to Dad quickly, you mean, of course._

She considers logging on to the computer to read over any new articles posted on the case. But online research—her constant obsession since the news broke—suddenly seems unappealing. She’s here in Neptune, the belly of the beast. She could be out poking into things; talking to…people. _Remember, Dad handles the investigating. You just research. After you talk to Logan._

She contemplates her phone again, opening up the contact list and scrolling down to stare at Logan’s name. _He’s in the military, he probably gets up early now._ Logan’s eighteen-year-old self stares up at her from his contact picture, all round cheeks and brooding eyes. She thinks again how young they both were the last time she saw him. With a frustrated grunt, she flings the phone away from her and falls back on the bed, her arm over her eyes.

 _Why is this so difficult? It’s just a phone call. You already flew across the country; it’s not like a phone call is going to make this look any weirder. _ Veronica pushes back down the rising tide of fears that had overwhelmed her on the plane. _Logan_ _is not going to think you’re a stalker. You’re just a concerned old friend who happens to be in town. This won’t be weird._ She snorts in derision. _Okay, this will be extremely weird, but it doesn’t have to be bad weird._

Veronica sits up slowly, running a hand through her hair. _Maybe…maybe the best thing to do would be to poke around a little bit. Find out where Logan is, maybe who is representing him. You always feel better when you have information._

She knows Logan is staying in Neptune. According to the press, the only property he owns there is—to her surprise—the still empty lot where his childhood home had stood before it burned down. The paparazzi seem a bit confused as to where Logan was actually living, when not at Carrie’s mansion. She grins a little, _Logan_ _always excelled at evasive driving._ In the depths of one of the articles that she’d read on the plane, Dick Casablancas had been mentioned as Logan's "long time friend" who had apparently provided his bail. Veronica has an inkling that that may be where Logan is staying; with Dick. After all, does anything ever really change in Neptune? But where does Dick Casablancas live? _Easy peasy_.

__________

 

Veronica pokes her head through the entryway into the kitchen. Seeing Keith at the island making a sandwich, she bounces in to the room, deliberately perky. “Oh wise and handsome father of mine?” She heads toward the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water.

“Yes, transparently manipulative daughter?”

Veronica freezes momentarily with her head in the fridge, composing her features before popping back out, bottle in hand and perk factor dialed down to what she hoped was a less suspicious level. “Want to set me up with a password for the PI Database? My old account is apparently no longer valid.” She gives him a mock glare, “cheapskate.”

“Veronica.” Keith’s voice lilts up threateningly on the last syllable of her name.

“What?” She says insouciantly, taking a swig from her water bottle. “I’m not asking for a kidney. I just need to do some checking around on something.”

“Ah yes, the infamous ‘something.’ Are you worried that ‘someone’ did it to ‘someone else?’” Veronica rolls her eyes in response. “Seriously, Veronica, what is this about?”

“Would you believe it’s for a school project? Who knew law school would be so interactive?”

Her father stares at her searchingly for a moment before sighing and giving in. “You can use my account. My password is #91585.”

Veronica grins a little before raising her water bottle in salute, “A random password indeed, sir.”

“Father knows best.” He catches her gaze and leans in a little, shifting to his fatherly I-mean-business tone. “But, hey, Sweetie? You’ve got a good life going on right now. Good career prospects, a good relationship. In _New York_. Don’t go blowing it all up over Logan.” As Veronica gapes at him, a flush rising in her cheeks, Keith leans down and presses a kiss to the top of her head before quietly exiting the house.

__________

 

Logging in to the PI Database, less than ten minutes after her dad leaves for the office, Veronica feels a pure thrill of adrenaline wash up from the keys into her fingertips. _Get a grip, Veronica; it’s just an address search. You used to do a million of these a week._  

The main screen pops up and she does a search on “Richard Casablancas, Jr.” His name, address and basic details quickly appear. Her curiosity wars with the adult Veronica in her mind telling her to get what she needs and get out. _Shut up, adult Veronica._ She clicks through to the screen with criminal complaints. Dick’s adult record is just about as colorful as his teenaged self would lead one to suspect, Veronica notes with a smirk. DUIs; drunk in public; something called a BUI ( _biking under the influence?_ ); a citation for—she snickers—urinating on a cop car. No child support or alimony payments that she can see, though, so that is something. “At least it’s not spawning,” Veronica mutters to herself. She does note, reluctantly, that the most recent of his citations occurred almost two years ago. _Growing up? Dick? Nah._ Curiosity satisfied, she jots down Dick’s address. She can visualize exactly where 14376 Manzanita Drive is; on the beach in the heart of the 90909 zip code. _Quelle surprise._

Veronica clicks back to the database’s home page. She sits, staring at the blinking cursor in the search box, her finger hovering over the “L” key, for a long moment before logging out and powering down the computer. _Whatever you want to know you can ask him soon enough._ Veronica glances at her phone. _Not yet. I want to get the lay of the land before I …do anything._

An hour later, Veronica takes a cab to Mars Investigations, where she convinces her father to loan her his car for the day as long as she picks him back up at the office in the evening. A sense of potential buzzes through her as she drives around Neptune a bit aimlessly, noticing changes. The new store front for Babylon Gardens looks nice. _Is that…? Nope._ The thrift shop that used to be on the corner by the high school has closed down. _That could be… Nope._ She drives by her dad’s old office building for nostalgia’s sake, grimacing a bit at the gentrification. She definitely is not scanning for a rich person car in some sort of jackass color. She swings by Cho’s and picks up a large Peking duck pizza. As she’s paying, her cell phone chimes its “text message” sound. She fumbles for her phone eagerly; looks down and sighs. Wallace.

_** It’s lunch time, thank god, what’s my surprise? **_

Veronica glances at her watch and texts back.

_** Be in the parking lot at your car in exactly ten minutes. **_

_** Come alone. Tell no one. We will know if you contact the police. **_

She hops back into her dad’s car, gunning it toward the high school and making it there in less than eight minutes. Her phone rings on the ride over, but it’s Wallace and she ignores it. _Oh no you don’t, Fennel._ She parks in the visitor’s lot— _weird_ —and, pizza in hand, goes looking for Wallace’s car. Just as she spots his black Dodge Charger, adorned with Neptune High bumper stickers, another text comes through.

_** Did you somehow manage to get snickerdoodles delivered to my car? Because that’s one high school memory I definitely approve of. **_

Veronica grins, ready to type out some cryptic, yet snarky response, when Wallace walks around the corner. She leans against the hood of his car, holding the pizza box balanced on one hand like a Bob’s Big Boy statue.

A broad grin breaks out across Wallace’s face as he stops momentarily, shakes his head and mutters, “Oh no she didn’t,” before coming charging toward Veronica and gathering her up in a hug.

Veronica laughs, “Ah, ah. Careful of the grub! I wouldn’t want you to waste your pirate points.”

Wallace sets her down. “Damn V, you sure do know how to surprise a guy. What the hell is this?” He looks around, “Is Mac here too?” He rubs his hands together, grabs the pizza box and opens it quickly, dramatically inhaling the scent. “Mmm…my favorite.”

Veronica is taken aback. “Mac? No. Is she in town already? I haven’t even talked to her yet; I figured she’d still be up in Simi Valley for a few more days.  She came down early, huh?”

“Oh she’s in town.” Wallace steps back and cocks his head at Veronica before snorting, “She’s looking for housing. She took a job in Neptune and she’s moving back. She didn’t tell you?”

“What! No, I didn’t know. We just talked last week! What new job?”

Wallace shakes his head, muttering, “Oh no, I think I’ll let her tell you about that herself.” He leans back against the hood of his car, grabs a slice of pizza and shoves it in his mouth.

Veronica badgers Wallace for a few more minutes—during which time he inhales half of the pie—but he refuses to give up any more information on Mac.

“Fine,” Veronica huffs, “I’ll figure it out myself.”

“Oh I’m sure you will.” Wallace rolls his eyes at her. “But who are you to talk anyway, _BFF_ ” he leans on the title with light sarcasm, “What the hell are you in town for that you didn’t tell anyone?”

“Um.” _Trapped, trapped like a rat._ “The reunion?”

“The reunion?” Wallace mimics her uncertain, questioning tone. “You don’t sound real sure of yourself.”

 _Offense, Veronica, offense._ “Hey now, you’re the one who has been badgering me to go. Sheesh; can’t a girl fly across the country just to see her family and her best friends in the whole world?”

“A girl can, but a girl hasn’t. Not in a long time. What’s going on, V, is Piz with you?” Wallace cranes his neck and looks around again as though Piz has possibly been crouching behind a car this whole time. “You two got some…news you wanted to share in person?” His eyes dart to Veronica’s left hand, then to her waist.

“What!? No!” Veronica shoves Wallace and he stumbles back a few steps in surprise. “ _Piz_ is not here. _I_ am just here for a surprise visit. And there is _no_ personal news.” Her eyes are snapping in fury. “And I am _not_ going to the reunion!” She slaps the hood of his car for emphasis.

“Jesus, okay.” Wallace rubs at his chest where she’d shoved him. “Sorry, V. I was just teasing.”

Veronica deflates a little, her anger abating quickly. “I know. It’s just…I have to be back in New York by Monday; Piz’s parents are flying in to see him and meet me. I’ve got the bar exam and interviews have been really stressful. This was…this is a bit of an impulse trip.”

Wallace nods, “Okay,” and stares at her thoughtfully. “V, does this have anything to do with…?” He trails off in the face of her stare. The sound of Neptune High’s passing bell rings through the air. “Damn. I’ve got to go. Fifth Period is starting. I’ll call you when I get out of practice, okay?” Veronica nods and he leans in to give her a quick hug.

He starts to walk backwards away from her. “We’ll talk later, okay?” He raises his eyebrows meaningfully, before turning and jogging back onto campus.

Veronica slides back into her father’s car. _Well that was fun. _She takes a second to text a threatening message to Mac.

_** You’ve been keeping secrets. Call me immediately. **_

A little shaken, Veronica resumes her aimless drive around Neptune. She pulls away from the high school and, consumed by her thoughts, heads in the general direction of the beach. _I can’t believe Wallace actually thought…Piz and I are nowhere near that yet, are we? So why does Wallace think we are? Did Piz tell him something? Does Piz think we are? Ugh, stop girl-ing out, Veronica. I’d rather think about the case. I wonder if Logan has any theories about who killed Carrie. He always was far more perceptive than he gave himself credit for. _She flashes back to Mercer. _Well, usually._

Veronica turns onto the PCH, heading northward as she nears the coast. She rolls her windows down, inhaling deeply to catch the familiar reeking perfume of salt, seaweed and fish. Her Dad’s car is only equipped with analog radio and all of the pre-sets are seventies rock stations. _The man is nothing if not predictable._ Veronica jabs at a few buttons, tuning the radio to stations she remembers from high school, only to find them blaring current Top 40. She clicks the radio off and allows her thoughts to drift back to high school. _This is where Lilly’s car broke down that time we were all coming back from the beach._ Her lips curve in a smile. _Duncan wanted to call his father, but Lilly thought we should just do our Pep Squad dance on the side of the road until someone stopped._ She can almost feel Lilly’s hand gripping her wrist, dragging her to the shoulder, both of them laughing wildly. Lilly’s voice seems to float by on the breeze, “ _Come on Veronica Mars, let’s show ‘em how it’s done.”_ Veronica chuckles ruefully. _It took less than two minutes for a young business professional type to stop and help us jump the car. Lilly got his number while Logan just laughed and made me finish the routine with him._ Veronica exits the highway where it curves away from the beach, toward the northern boundary of the city of Neptune. She takes a left off of the exit to stay near the coast.

In a small cove, a surf school is having a lesson; she can see a little flotilla of baby surfers bob on the waves. _I wonder how the hell Logan wound up in the Navy,_ she thinks, not for the first time. _It’s the exact opposite of what I would have expected of him, but somehow it also makes perfect sense._ Veronica turns right on Manzanita Drive, heading into one of the ritzier areas in Neptune. _I wonder if Carrie minded the deployments. I wouldn’t like…_ She shakes herself a little and glances into the back seat. _Yep, my purse is still back there. Didn’t forget it._

Veronica lets her mind go blank, lulled by the even rhythm of the wheels on the pavement. The smell of the ocean continues to filter in through the open window, but the road is now lined on either side with thick rhododendron hedges, blocking the view. Veronica drives between the dense walls of deep green dotted with large, brilliant flowers in scarlet, coral and blood red. Thus is protected the privacy of the wealthy. About four miles off the PCH, Veronica slows the car and turns into a gap in the hedges. Abstractedly, she pulls into the driveway, parks and turns off the car.

She blinks out of her driving coma and looks up at the Cape Cod beach house in front of her. _Where…_ The ornate tile numbers affixed to a pillar near the door read 14376. _Dick’s. I just drove to Dick’s on auto pilot._ Her heart starts to pound as she looks at the door. _Logan_ _._ She glances at her cell phone, resting in the center cup holder. Her hand seems to float up of its own volition and grab the door handle of the car. _He might not be here._

Moving slowly and without conscious thought, Veronica exits her father’s car and starts to head up the walkway to the front door. She is walking in a daze, her breathing sounds unnaturally harsh in her ears. _He might not be here._ She makes it to about three feet from the door before reality and panic set in.

 _Oh my god, what are you doing? You haven’t called. It has been nine years. You haven’t called. Flee Veronica, flee. _Her feet obey the thought even before it is done passing through her mind. She spins around and starts walking briskly back to her car. _Safety, safety, safety._

She is halfway down the front sidewalk when she hears the front door of the house open behind her.

There is silence, and then an achingly familiar voice. “Ver—Veronica?”


	3. Idiom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Course:**  
>  1\. (idiom) certainly; definitely  
> 2\. (idiom) in the usual or natural order of things

“Ver—Veronica?”

She pivots slowly back towards the house. Logan stands there, just beyond the open door, his face slack with shock, car keys dangling from his fingers. 

They stare at each other for what has to be a full minute; neither moving.

He looks so different from the Logan of her memories a minute and nine years ago. Different, even, than he did on the videos she’s been obsessed with for the last week. This Logan is leaner, tanner, more muscular and—oh God— _real_. Even as he reddens, discomposed, his stance is steady and his hands are flat against his sides, not jammed into his pockets or carving some fanciful shape out of the air. _So different._ He doesn’t speak. She can’t speak. Finally, “I didn’t call,” he blurts out. "What are you doing here?" He closes his eyes momentarily as if in reaction to his words.

Veronica swallows, painfully. "I'm ...I'm in town for..." She is flailing. "For the reunion." She winces, _crap, he’ll never believe that._ Logan arches a skeptical eyebrow. _God, his eyebrows._ "I'm sorry...I shouldn't have... I'll go." 

She starts to slink back down the front walk toward her car. _Stupid, stupid, stupid, Veronica._ Her face is burning. 

She has almost reached the car when Logan’s voice comes from behind her, tight and hoarse, "Wait.” She freezes. “Don't go." Veronica turns back around, slowly.

“Jesus, Veronica. Don’t go.” His hand comes up to rub the back of his neck, fingers clenching slightly in the short hair at the base of his skull. Veronica relaxes a little; there, in that gesture, she can see the Logan she left behind. “I haven’t seen you in nine years, just... just give me a sec." He breathes in deeply. “Would you…like to come in?” She nods a little and trails after him into the house.

She follows him down the hall and into the kitchen. The house is surprisingly beautiful and homey. Big windows look out onto the Pacific Ocean and the beach butts right up to the small back patio. The décor is surfer eclectic; as they pass it, Logan trails his fingers across the surface of a surf board that is leaning against the wall in the hallway.

In the kitchen, Logan stands still for a minute, blinking as though unsure of what he is doing there. “Something to drink?” he asks, without looking at her. Veronica shakes her head in the negative, but Logan doesn’t notice, focused on moving over to the counter where a coffee machine rests.

Logan sets up and fills the coffee machine with his characteristic smooth, elegant movements. With his back still to her and the tension in his shoulders belying the nonchalance in his voice, he asks “So, it’s been a long time. What brings you to Neptune?”

Veronica still stands in the center of the kitchen, as though rooted to the spot. _You should be more prepared for this. He’s the one who was blindsided. Shake it off, Veronica._ She takes a deep breath. “Mostly I’m in town visiting my dad.” _There. That sounded mostly normal._

Logan nods a little, busying himself with coffee cups. He finally turns around and faces her. “Do you still take cream?” She nods and he fixes her cup, handing it to her and gesturing for them both to sit down at the small kitchen table.

He is such an odd combination of old and new. She can’t stop cataloguing the differences. One of his fingers absently traces the pattern of the wood grain on the table top; old. He meets her gaze directly as he asks, “So, how is your dad?” New.

Veronica takes a sip of the coffee she hadn’t wanted, “He’s good. Business is better than ever. He moved to a new office a few years ago.”

Quietly, Logan says, “I know.” He is so composed (new). Veronica feels like she’s about to fly apart into a million pieces.

“Oh.” Uncomfortable silence descends for a beat or two.

“So…” Logan looks up at her, his lips quirking a little, “how about them Dodgers?”

A reluctant chuckle at his quip (old) escapes Veronica. “This is…odd. Isn’t it?”

“I would have gone with ‘surreal’ maybe, or ‘terrifying.’ But yeah, ‘odd’ works.”

Veronica firms up her resolve, takes a deep breath, and lets the words pour out of her. “I am _so_ sorry to just show up out of the blue like this. I was going to call to see if you wanted to get together, but then I went for a drive and I just…”

“Wound up here?” he finishes and Veronica nods helplessly in response. “Do I even need to ask how you knew where I was staying?” He gazes at her, smiling lightly, “No, I don’t think I do.”

Veronica smirks, beginning to recover her equilibrium, “I could make a pretty penny selling your whereabouts to the tabloids, you know,” she teases, “pay off some of that law school debt.”

“Law school, huh? I’d heard that. Veronica Mars, JD. I don’t envy opposing counsel.” He seems to be settling down, casting this conversation as old friends catching up. His fingers turn his coffee cup in full rotation, pause for a moment, and then turn it back the other way. (Old.)

They stare at each other for a second. _Out with it, Veronica._ She takes another deep breath. “Logan… I said I mostly came to see my dad. That’s only partly true. I came because I wanted to…because I heard about Carrie.”

Logan’s whole face tightens. “On the hunt for justice, Veronica Mars?”

“No, no. I don’t do that anymore.”

Logan isn’t listening, doesn’t hear her. His tone is grim. “Are you even going to ask me if I did it?”

She is floored and somewhat angry. “Logan, shit. How could you… I _never_ …I wouldn’t be here if I thought you did.”

At her words, Logan slumps, the hint of combativeness that had begun to spark in his eyes extinguished. His voice quiet once more and slightly bitter, he says, “You’d be one of the only ones, then.”

“I know. I’ve been reading… It is _ridiculous_ ,” Reclaiming some of the righteous anger that had sent her flying across the country feels good, “the case against you is shoddy. There are holes all over the timeline, and that’s just what I can tell from reading online. Have they even bothered looking into Sean?” Veronica’s color is up, her eyes sparking with fervor as she talks more rapidly. Mutely, Logan shakes his head. “Well they should be. Did they ask you about any enemies Carrie had? Death threats? Stalkers?” He shakes his head again. Veronica lets out an explosive breath. “God, those morons. It is beyond incompetence and into venality at this point.”

Logan stares at her for a second, a small smile playing around his lips at her fervor, and then seems to make some sort of decision. He props his elbows on the table and leans in toward her, “Look, I know it has been nine years and that this,” he waves a hand between the two of them, “is awkward as hell, but I’m not too proud to admit it. I need your help, Veronica.”

Veronica leans back, away from him, unreasonably shocked by this development. “What…what did you have in mind?”

Logan looks suddenly uncertain; he doesn’t know how to parse her response. He lifts his hand toward the back of his neck, but aborts the motion mid-way through and brings his hand back down to rest on the table. “Well, firstly, you’re a lawyer, right?”

“Almost. I still have to pass the bar.”

“You’ll do brilliantly, I’m sure.” _Yeah, you and my dad both._

“Do you think you could help me sort through some of the lawyers who have been calling me?” He laughs a little, “I asked Dick and he said I should pick the one with the hottest paralegals. I’m thinking maybe I could use a more informed mind to help process all of them.”

“Of course.” Veronica is uneasy, but she doesn’t know exactly why. She holds her breath, _is there more?_ _Aren’t you going to ask…?_ When he doesn’t say anything, she looks directly at him. Their gazes catch and hold.

He looks tender (old) and sad (new. No, old, if she’s being honest). God, he looks so sad. _No shit, Veronica, his girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—just died. He found her. What did you expect?_

She starts to reach out a hand instinctively, then jerks back. _Piz! Watch it, Veronica._ Heart pounding, she pushes her chair back and grabs her coffee cup to cover her retreat. She walks over to the sink, dumps her remaining coffee and starts to rinse the cup.

From behind her, she hears Logan’s voice, carefully diffident. “I was just going out for some fresh air when you got here. I’ve been cooped up inside all week. Do you want to go for a walk?”

She cocks her head, considering. _Will this be more or less awkward outside? (More or less dangerous?_ The small voice in the back of her mind echoes.) “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Logan grabs his keys and his wallet and gestures toward the glass doors that sit behind the kitchen table. “The beach is this-a-way.”

Airily, in her best Lady of the Manor voice, Veronica intones, “Oh really? Is there a beach out there? I hadn’t noticed.” Logan makes a face at her, but indicates with a jerk of his chin that she should precede him.

They walk out onto the small cement patio that borders the beach. Veronica kicks off her shoes and lines them up neatly next to the low wall dividing the patio from the sand. They both cuff their pant-legs up and hop the wall. Logan points his thumb to the left, “Let’s go this way. Less crowded.”

They walk side by side, a careful three feet apart, their steps in sync. Veronica relishes the deeply remembered feel of dry sand between her toes. They separate briefly as a runner, earbuds in and face intent and sweaty, passes in between them heading in the opposite direction before returning to their original positions. Veronica tilts her face back to feel the weak rays of the sun filtering out from behind the marine layer. A silence settles, much more comfortable than the one they had shared inside. _This was a good idea. God, I missed this._ She deliberately doesn’t think about whether she means the company or the beach.

True to Logan’s word, as they walk the crowds lessen. “I’ve never been to this beach before, I don’t think,” Veronica murmurs.

“Yeah, this end is about as close to private beach as you can get in California. All of those houses up there restrict the access pretty tightly and most people don’t walk this far from the public lot on Crescent.” They walk on in silence for a few more beats before Logan adds, “This was Carrie’s favorite beach.”

Veronica nods. “Her house was around here growing up, wasn’t it?”

“Mmhm.” Logan points a few yards ahead at a house squatting on the sand, all gleaming chrome, glass and modern lines. “That one.”

“Yikes.” They share a small smile at their mutual assessment of the house.

“Carrie hated it too.”

Veronica detours around a large wad of beached kelp, drifting a little closer to Logan. “Logan, I didn’t say earlier how sorry I was to hear about Carrie.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and presses his lips together. “Thanks. It’s hard to believe she’s really gone. She was…great and awful, sparkling and dark, all rolled in to one.”

“It’s kind of your type, huh?” It escapes Veronica before she can think about it. Horrified, she claps a hand to her mouth, “Oh, Logan. I’m so sorry I didn’t mean that the way it—“

“No,” he snorts. “You’re not really wrong and its not news to me. I’ve never really liked the ones that come easy.” He smiles at her, wry and painful. “Carrie reminded me a lot of Lilly, actually. That was one reason I…” He stops and restarts. “She loved hearing stories about Lilly, Carrie did. She transferred to Neptune late enough that she only really knew the bad stuff in high school.”

Veronica tilts her head toward Logan, migrating a little closer to him as they continue to walk forward. “Lilly stories are the best stories, aren’t they?”

“God yes, she was so ridiculous. I can’t even believe half of the stuff she—we—got away with.”

Veronica is grinning now. “Driving up here, I was thinking about the time her car broke down and she got me to do the pep squad routine instead of just calling Triple-A like a normal person.”

Logan laughs, a rich real laugh that warms Veronica from her toes up. “I think about that all the time when I drive by that shoulder.” They are walking close enough together now for their arms to brush. “You were amazing, Veronica; so game for anything.” He bumps her with his shoulder. At the contact, they both freeze infinitesimally and separate, back to their careful distance.

Logan clears his throat and picks the conversation back up. “That was one of the things I first liked about Carrie; it was nice to be able to talk about Lilly with someone who didn’t only care about her death.”

Veronica nods. _You’re the only one I’ve ever had that with_. They walk on a little more; Logan is kicking a small rock in front of him with each step.

“You know, Veronica, what I said about Carrie? How I have a type?” He makes contact with the rock, sending it ahead a few paces. “That’s not how I think of you; as awful or dark.” He makes contact again.

“Really?” She gives him a lopsided smile, not as offended as he clearly expects her to be, “I thought it sounded pretty accurate.” She clears her throat, “From when you knew me anyway.”

“No.” He shakes his head, considering. Kicks the rock again. “You were…brilliant in every sense of the word. Shining so much it hurt to look at you.”

Veronica gulps, stunned, and stops in her tracks. Logan gives the rock one last swift kick and sends it skittering far off across the sand. He turns to face her. “Have you changed so much, then?”

_Yes._

By some sort of mysterious mutual agreement, they both turn and start walking slowly back down the beach in the other direction, towards Dick’s house. They are each lost in their own thoughts. _How could anyone, anyone, who hears him talk about her think that Logan killed Carrie? If it was a crime of passion I could at least understand the suspicion, but a blow drier in the bathtub? It is so cold and calculated. _

She sneaks a glance at Logan. His face is grim again. She wonders if his thoughts are drifting back to the case as hers are. _Why didn’t he ask me to investigate? Why didn’t he call? He would have, before._

Logan has sped up a little and Veronica has to do a quick skipping hop to catch up with him. He looks back at her and slows his pace, smiling apologetically. _He has to know I would do the responsible thing and get Dad’s help. After all, Dad is the licensed PI; I’m just a law student. I’m good enough to help Logan sort through lawyers, though, apparently._

As they near Dick’s house and start to angle up the sand away from the ocean, Veronica’s bare toes catch in a half-buried plastic six-pack ring and she stumbles. In a flash, Logan reaches out and steadies her. Veronica is in a partial dip backwards; the only point of contact between the two of them is his hands on her upper arms, burning.

Concern is evident on his face as he sets her back upright and looks her up and down. “Alright?” He asks, his gaze probing her.

Veronica stares into Logan’s eyes and knows for sure—for certain—that she is not turning this over to her Dad. _This is my case,_ she thinks fiercely. _I will fix this for him; I will find out who killed Carrie._

The words seem to come of their own volition. “Logan, I want to help you. I want to investigate the case and find the killer. It’s what I came out here for,” it feels good to acknowledge that truth both out loud and to herself. “But you need to know, I haven’t done any investigating since I left Hearst. You deserve a professional. You should really hire someone, or maybe my dad…”

He quickly jumps in. “No, Veronica, I want you.” He clears his throat. “I mean, you’re the only investigator I’d want to work with.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay.”

They both inhale in unison and resume their trek up the beach. Veronica goes into business mode. “When are your lawyer interviews?”

“Tomorrow. The first one is at ten o’clock.”

“Alright. I’ll do some poking around on the database tonight then I’ll meet you here for the interviews. Afterwards we can talk about the case. I want to pick your brain about some theories I have.”

“That sounds perfect.” _Does he sound relieved? He looks relieved, right?_

They gather their shoes and, still barefoot, he walks her to her car. They stand there awkwardly, Veronica’s hand on the door handle.

Logan straightens his shoulders imperceptibly. “Veronica?”

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to call.” He breathes out in a huff. “You. I wanted to call you. When all of this…” He trails off, waving a hand helplessly. “Thank you for coming anyway. It means a lot that you did. It’s…good to see you.”

They are caught in one of those awkward moments of back-and-forth that sometimes accompanies goodbyes. _Do we hug? Kiss on the cheek? Just smile and walk away?_ She leans in a little, just as Logan puts his hand up to—wave? _What the?_ Veronica stutters back, as Logan leans forward. They both stop and stare at each other, stymied. The urge to giggle overtakes Veronica; Logan’s lips are twitching upwards. Decisively, Veronica steps forward and puts her arms around Logan for a hug. She bends at the waist and keeps her hips canted away from his in a platonic way, but holds the embrace just a little longer than is appropriate for a friendly goodbye hug. Her eyes close as she inhales his scent; piney and warm with a hint of mint underlying. Logan doesn’t release her either. Suddenly, inexplicably, Veronica feels like crying. She steps back quickly, pasting a bright smile on her lips. “Right. So I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Of course,” he replies, softly. “Goodnight, Veronica.”

“Goodnight.” 


End file.
